


Watch You Watch Me

by Not_You



Series: Watching [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Body Image, Canon Character of Color, Clothed Sex, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Past Torture, Voyeurism, clint will get you one of these days, not a contact sport for fury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt and intended to be more epic.  But then laziness intervened, so I'm posting the porny one-shot that actually got written.</p><p>The prompt was for Fury being too self-conscious about the scarring all over his body to stand being touched, so the only sex he gets is when whoever Phil is sleeping with agrees to let him watch.  Clint finds the idea scary but hot, and agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch You Watch Me

Coulson isn't hot in that immediate, eye-catching way, but the longer Clint watches him, the harder it is to look away. When he turns out to have a wicked sense of humor and to be willing to play deaf in the face of stupid orders, Clint knows he's in love. It's bittersweet, though, because he's pretty sure Coulson is fucking Fury. It's really hard to picture (okay, it's easy to picture Coulson getting fucked, and isn't that a beautiful image), but he thinks it must be true. Coulson brings Fury coffee just the way he likes it, and gives him this tender little smile when he thinks no one else can see; and Clint has caught Fury in Coulson's office, putting that heavy coat over Coulson's shoulders to keep him warm when he falls asleep at his desk.

It's a shock when Coulson takes him out to lunch, sits him down, and very seriously explains the utter lack of pressure involved in this overture. Clint just grins, because Coulson is really cute when he's being earnest. It makes him rambly, and Clint listens for a while before shutting him up with a soft kiss. Coulson shivers and sighs and makes Clint want to throw him down on the table and ride him until Coulson can't remember how to spell his own name, but all good things must come to an end, and he pulls away, looking completely unflapped except for his blown pupils.

Clint smiles, but he has to say one thing. "I thought you and Fury, though…"

Coulson blushes, and it's cute as hell. "Oh. He and I are... It's difficult to explain."

It sure as shit is difficult to explain, and Coulson doesn't really try to until they've been fucking for a few months. Clint has been watching Fury for jealousy, but hasn't seen any. Fury studies him, but it's calm. Even friendly, sometimes. Clint guesses it's turnabout being fair play, since Coulson is just as attentive as ever. Still, it crosses his mind sometimes, and right now, reduced to noodliness in the aftermath of a thorough, attentive (Coulson Competent™) blowjob, the words just roll out of his mouth.

"So, you and Fury?"

"What free-association brought that on?"

"I dunno, maybe 'cause I thought you two were fucking and you're amazing in bed so now I feel sorry for him?"

Phil chuckles sadly, looking up from where his head is resting on Clint's chest. "We're certainly close enough, but he chooses not to."

"…Totally straight?"

"No, cripplingly self-conscious." He sighs. "This isn't really mine to tell, but the basic facts are easy enough to find if you look. An early mission went bad. Unsalvageably bad. The scars around the eye patch aren't the only ones."

Clint sighs. "So he never… Seriously?"

Coulson blushes and squirms. "Well, the closest he comes is when anyone I'm with lets him watch. So that's up to you."

"Uh. Wow. Lemme think about it?"

"Of course."

And Clint does think about it. About the intensity in that one eye, and about how Fury's clothes are like armor and his spine is so tense. It had been a while for Phil, and Clint shudders to think of having nothing to even watch for that long, after years of just lurking under Phil's table for what crumbs fall. He thinks about it while he jerks off, and ruins a few orgasms with the giggles. But really, he has the feeling that Fury watching won't be funny at all. That it'll be hot. And more importantly, he knows that Phil wants to be able to give Fury what little he'll accept, and Clint doesn't want to be responsible for the poor guy's even further deprivation.

Naturally, Phil has to be all responsible about it. Asks Clint if he's sure, tells him he doesn't have to, all of that. Clint just tells him that he knows damn well he doesn't have to, that he wants to. That Fury's even hot, in a scary kind of way. That makes Phil laugh, and he finally fucking drops it. Or rather, accepts it. He lets Clint know, in a normal kind of way, that he's bringing Fury home for dinner and voyeurism next week. Gives him some time to get used to it and to find a good coq au vin recipe and stop hyperventilating. It doesn't matter if Fury is cool, Fury is their fucking boss, and more importantly, Fury.

"So, Phil?"

"Yes?"

"…You're sure he won't just sit there and glare? Maybe tell us we're doing it wrong?"'

Phil chuckles a little sadly. "No, Clint. He won't be… unaffected."

Clint waits on his chance to test that, feeling a little like a kid at a family dinner while Fury and Phil talk about responsible adult things and he fidgets. It's just so weird to have Fury here, but also kinda hot, and it makes him restless and inattentive. He wants to slide under the table and start blowing Phil, but Phil can be fussy about these things.

"Hey, Fury?"

"Yeah?"

"So if you're gonna be watching us fuck, what do you like?"

"…Direct, aren't you?"

Phil chuckles. "Well?"

"Hn. I know damn well what Phil looks like. So I guess something that shows you off, Barton."

So that's how he ends up riding Phil reverse-cowboy, Fury's one-eyed gaze burning. Clint has been eye-fucked in his time, but no one has ever come close to this level of intensity. Fury stares at Clint like he wants to devour him, and it just makes every motion better. He's running his hands over his chest and really playing it up, doing it the way he does when he's alone, with long vicious pinches and delicate rubbing that no non-Phil lover has ever been able to duplicate. Phil's hands are holding his hips, squeezing and helping him move, letting Clint set the pace completely. He moans deep in his chest, fucking himself on Phil's cock. Fury makes a harsh little grinding noise in his throat, gloved hands gripping the arms of the chair. Clint grins, bright and fierce, and rises up on his knees and then sinks back down over and over, savoring every second of the slow, hard slide. The little bounce at the end makes Phil whimper every time. Fury's breathing is ragged now, and Clint's pretty sure that none of them can take much more of this.

"Come on," he purrs, "take it out. I know you don't wanna be touched, but goddamn do I wanna watch you do it to yourself."

Fury just shudders and growls, but he flinches when Phil moans at Clint's words, and finally frees his chafed, aching cock. Clint licks his lips and grins. "Mmm, nice." And it is nice. He can see that there's actually scarring on the poor thing, but the skin still slides, sensitive and flexible. The pink tip is glistening, and Fury grips himself so hard, gloved thumb swiping cruelly over the head and making him curse softly. "Yeah, that's it," Clint murmurs, just grinding in circles on Phil now, holding him deep inside. He bites his lip because it's just so damn good, but he keeps his eyes open, watching Fury. "You need it rough, huh?"

"Oh fuck, Clint…" Phil squirms under him, throbbing. Fury just shudders.

"Yeah, you would." He squeezes Phil's cock, making him cry out. Fury makes a noise that could almost be called a whimper, cock twitching in his hand. "Mmm, just like that. I wanna watch you come, sir."

It's the 'sir' that does it, and he knows it. Does it for both of them, Phil shoving Clint forward onto all fours to pound his climax out of him along with his own as Fury grunts and snarls and covers his glove in sticky white. It takes all of them a long time to stop shaking, but Fury takes the longest. Phil is the first one up, bouncing away to get a warm washcloth. Clint yawns, and watches Phil tenderly clean Fury and his glove, pressing the lightest possible kiss to his lips, Fury's other hand cradling the back of his head for just a moment.

"I protest my lack of Furykisses," Clint says through a yawn, and Fury chuckles, getting up and actually ruffling Clint's hair, making him purr.

Fury chuckles. "Maybe next time, Barton."


End file.
